At the bottom of the stairway, she turned down a hallway toward the restrooms. Without giving herself a chance to chicken out, she opened the door marked OFFICE. Light streamed through the tilted miniblinds. Ray’s office was clean and neat. A computer monitor occupied the corner of a utilitarian metal desk. The center of the desktop was clear, except for paperwork neatly piled in the IN and OUT bins. Mandy skimmed through the papers. Invoices, inventory, employee time cards. Nothing unusual. She opened the desk drawers and perused the contents. Boring.

Mandy stooped in front of the credenza and skimmed through the hanging files. In the last drawer she found a folder full of newspaper articles about December’s crimes and the subsequent search for Nathan. Was Ray simply keeping up with news?

Something scuffed in the hallway.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Boston, June 22, 1975

Nathan shivered in the early morning damp.

“You cannot tell your dad about this day, Nathan.” Uncle Aaron’s oars cut through a layer of swirling predawn fog and dipped into the glassy surface of the lake. The old wooden rowboat creaked as his uncle shifted his weight back and pulled on the long handles. Muscles rippled. The boat glided forward into the quiet morning. “He won’t understand.”

Uncle Aaron paused, forearms resting on his thighs, waiting for Nathan’s response. Water dripped from the blade of an oar into the smooth, dark water. Tiny waves rippled away from the hull. Nathan dipped the tips of his fingers into the silky liquid. The lake was deep here. If he slipped over the side, he could just sink into cool nothing.

“Nathan? Swear.”

“OK.” He felt like he was cheating. The promise was too easy. Dad didn’t have the time or energy to talk anyway. His whole life was taking care of Mom, who didn’t do much except pace and twitch and ramble. Nathan wasn’t sure she even recognized him. He tried to picture her smiling but couldn’t. Overwhelming sadness rose, scratchy and salty in his throat. He reached for the small cooler Uncle Aaron had stashed between their seats and pulled out a Coke. The bubbles burned on their way down, but he welcomed the discomfort. At least it made him feel alive.

Uncle Nathan stopped rowing and rested the oars across the peeling paint of the seats. Water lapped against the side of the boat. He scanned the shoreline all around. They were in the dead center of the lake. Dawn edged over the horizon, and the eastern sky brightened to watercolor pink.